


Wine Stains and Bloody Carpets

by Saber_Sloth



Series: Aisling Hawke [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Also by Mage Hawke., Assumptions are made about blood magic use and violent Fenris is violent, Expalnations of attempted suicide, F/M, Fenris is confused by emotions, Lies, Mage Hawke hating her magic., Mentions of attempted suicide, Slightly masochistic Hawke, self-hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 16:28:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5170841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saber_Sloth/pseuds/Saber_Sloth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Fenris assumes the worst when he catches sight of the jagged scar on Aisling Hawke's wrist, the resulting wine stains are the least of his carpet's problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wine Stains and Bloody Carpets

—

 

They had settled into a comfortable and easy silence, sipping the wine Fenris has brought up from the cellar, the fire casting a warm glow around the room.

Aisling shook her head, a soft smile stretching her lips. She didn't think she had ever been in the company of someone - anyone who she had been able to fall into a comfortable camaraderie this quickly. With a startled thought—she might never have felt like this around another.

With a small smile she reached from the half finished bottle of the Tevinter wine she couldn't pronounce the name of—her sleeve pulling up as she did, exposing a years old scar to the world.

Normally she took more care—covering the scar, she knew what it looked like, but to meet Fenris—she hadn't thought too.

It took half a heartbeat for Fenris to notice and the other half for him to have her pinned to the wall. His hand around her neck—thumb caressing her windpipe—his gauntlets and armor had long since been shed—his other hand grabbed her arm, yanking down her sleeve exposing the long jagged scar to the world. Then grabbed her scarred wrist and pinned it over her head.

Aisling absently notice that the table had been flipped over in the commotion—their chairs too—and that the wine was going to stain the carpet—though why should she care, because of the corpse and blood that that already stained that carpet and really all of the carpets in the manner for wine to really be the most pressing problem.

Aisling saw the elf pinning her huffing as his vitriol built, "I should have known." He growled out, his green eyes hard, "I had thought you different. But to have already succumbed, you're no better than that witch, or the abomination. At least they acknowledge what they are. Blood magic -"

She cut him off, "It's not blood magic." she whispered desperate for him to believe her. "It's not blood magic." she said louder. She could feel the callouses on his hands where he grabbed her—the strength of him brushing and rough.

" _Mage._ " he growled out as a warning, daring her to concoct a story to contradict his assumed knowledge.

Despite how he grabbed her—pinning her to the wall. Despite knowing that if she didn't heal herself she would have bruises for the world to see. Despite knowing that if she took one wrong step right here and right now he would kill her. Despite knowing all of this, his gravely voice made her shiver.

If there was anyone in the world that she could trust with this, it would be him. Not even Carver knew the real story. He believed what she had told her family, and she hadn't the heart to tell him the truth.

"I - I -" she fumbled as his thumb moved along her throat as she spoke, she felt a spark shoot through her. She was sick. Here she was getting wet at him pinning her to the wall ready to kill her—she probably would have came all ready if he could smite her. "It's not blood magic," she repeated, her eyes looked down full of shame—shame for years ago, and for right now—if he hadn't had his hand where it was she would have hung her head—hair hiding her face, but he wouldn't let her—he was making her face this. Face him.

She could see that he was grinding his teeth—impatient and angry, as his hands tightening slightly. But she wasn't dead. Not yet. He would let her speak, he still trusted her enough to speak, to explain—so she had better make it good. Not only good, she would tell him the truth.

She took a breath. She could do this. "I tried -" she took another breath, steeling herself, "I tried to kill myself." There she said it. She could feel his shock—his grip loosened. She pulled her arm free—he let her. She made no other move to escape him though, as her hands moved to the buttons on her robe.

If she was going to do this she might as well tell him—show him—everything. It might be the only reason he would believe her.

He watched stupefied as she unclasped the buttons holding her robe closed. He swallowed shallowly his mouth suddenly dry.

"I - I - my -" She stuttered, then sighed, "My father, he told me to practice in the forest one day alone. I thought it my chance. He had my sister to teach, and she loves - _loved_ her magic." She closed her eyes as she corrected herself, the death of her sister still fresh in her mind. Staying her hands in her self appointed task. "I had a sword stashed away. I was planing for a very long time." She smiled ruefully.

"I hate it you know." She started abruptly, looking him in the eye. "I - Caver knows. I don't think he realizes how much, but he knows." His brows drew together in his confusion. "Magic." she explained to him with a sad smile. He felt his eyebrows disappear into his hair. She snorted bitterly. "I did the spells he - father told me to," she started continuing with her original story, "I wasted my magic. I had just enough left to do what I wanted." He watched that spark leave her _greengreen_  eyes. "I used my telekinetic spells to use the sword." She pushed off her robe—she had started, and finished unbuttoning it without him realizing it.

There she stood as her robe pooled at her feet, standing in her small clothes. "I made it look like I was attacked. I didn't want him to know of my weakness." And there was a jagged scar starting by her right collarbone, ending at the curve of her left hip, only interrupted by where she would have brought her left arm up to defend herself.

"My father found me before I died. He pumped me full of so much magic to make sure I lived. He wasn't really concerned with the scarring." She took a deep breath, or tied too. He realized that his hand was still around her throat. "When I woke up I told them that it was someone I didn't know. That he said something that now I was weak he would rid the world of one more mage. The family left before I woke again. No one wanting to stay in a village where there were mage killers near by—we moved to another village , then another in part so I could heal, but mostly we moved out of fear. I placed that fear into my family. A few months after that we moved to Lothering." She blinked slowly, as she swallowed once more, he could feel the way her throat moved under his hand. "I was fourteen." she whispered, tears building but not escaping from her eyes.

He loosened his grip and let her go, watching as she fell to the floor, sitting on top of her mage robes.

Her shoulders shook, her breath coming out in short gasps. She brought her knees to her chest as she cried—shaking, but made no move to put on her robes.

Fenris froze. He didn't know what to do. Or how to react. Hawke was a powerful women, and not just magically. She was always in control. Sure of herself—which is why it had been such a shock to see that scar, he had been sure that if there was one mage in all the world he could trust it would be Aisling Hawke. Seeing that scar nearly shattered his trust, and brought his ever present potent boiling rage to the surface.

If there was one thing he realized watching her break was that he believed her.

He crouched next her, his hand hovering just above her knee—he didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to comfort her—make this better. When he saw the darkening bruise on her neck through the curl of her fiery hair, and on her left wrist where she held her other wrist encircling her knees and he winced.

Suddenly he felt very ashamed.

She looked up at him and gave an awkwardly bittersweet smile. Her face tear stained and blotchy. "I'm crying." She whispered in awe with a sniffle and a half choked back sob.

"You are." he confirmed, confused.

"I haven't cried in years. Not since - I was - when," she took a breath,"When my magic manifested. I was five, and I was being tormented by a village boy. He died. Father took me away, running from Templars." She took a breath and deepened her voice, " _'Buck up girl! No tears. A mage does not cry. Crying shows weakness and weakness makes you an easy target for the Templars.'_ That's what he told me. I never forgot. And I never cried. Not until now. There's something about you that makes me feel safe." She confessed, tilting her head her fiery hair falling to the side, exposing the darkening bruise more clearly.

Something he was sure was shame coursed through him. She shouldn't feel safe with him. Not now. Not after that.

He watched as she shivered. He could see her nipples stiffen from under her breast binding. Now he only realized the cold air of the room. The fire had needed tending to before this confrontation—it's now dying warmth hardly reaching them.

He reached for her, his heart warmed and constricted with emotions he couldn't name when she didn't flinch away—even though she should have. She should have called lightning, paralyzed him, used her mind blast spell—anything, but she didn't. She let him help her maneuver her back into her mage robes, without her having to really move from her place on the floor.

When she finished buttoning the last button, she looked back up at him. The light blush her face held as he helped her faded. "You make me feel safe." She repeated, "Because I know. I know that if something should happen, if should fail - fall - give in. If Merrill's blood magic goes any farther. Anders' defeat in the face of Justice—I know you'll have the strength to do what must be done."

There was a slow horrible realization. She was talking about killing them. Killing her. She felt safe with him because he would kill her?

"I'm weak." No you're not Hawke - Aisling. "and pathetic. I try not to show but - but -"

"Hawke." he whispered his voice raw—this wasn't what he had expected to he doing tonight—only for her continue her self-deprecation, not having heard him. "Aisling." He tried again. She turned, looking at him in some strange mixture of confusion and awe. He'd never used her given name before—he was unsure if any of her companions had used her given name before. He wondered briefly if they knew it.

"If the worst should come to pass, I will kill you." he started, forcing himself to make his voice steady—a task he had long since mastered when the occasion called for it in the deadly viper's pit that was Minrathous.

He didn't know what to feel when he saw her slight smile. The trust in her eyes, at his steady reply.

"And the abomination, and the witch. But know this Aisling Hawke," he could feel her trembling as he sat beside her on the floor. "I see you. I know your strength. I do not believe that I will have to hold up to this promise—at least not with you."

He saw her mouth open, as she gasped out a soft "Oh."

They fell into silence. Different than before, but still comfortable. As she leaned onto his shoulder as they both sat on the floor watching the last of the embers flicker and die.

 

—

 

When he walked with her the back door of his stolen manner as the new dawn light filtered through the windows. Having spent the night beside her on the floor. He was sure that they both were stiff—sore from the prolonged position.

He didn't know if he slept, or if she did, during the many hours they stayed next each other, her head on his shoulder.

But it was nice. This feeling—she trusted him. In this complicated way he couldn't understand, but the feeling that her trust invoked—other than confusion—was warm and pleasant.

He stopped her as she reached for the backdoor to the manner.

"Heal your bruises. I will not have your brother and Maker knows who else, knocking down my door." He growled at the thought. He deserved it—them coming the threaten him, or worse for his behavior the previous night—but that didn't mean that he didn't want it to happen.

With a slight flush like she had forgotten—and perhaps she did. With a small flicker of magic—her magic, a cool flickering spark as it ghosted over him realizing as he watched her bruises fade, that she had not only healed her hurts, but his as well. "Goodnight Fenris."

"Good morning," he corrected, looking out into the new dawn. She blushed. He thought to call her Hawke, but he remembered her reaction to her given name, and finished with "Aisling." Her smile was blinding at the use of her name in his farewell.

He watched as she walked down the stone steps, until he couldn't see her any longer. Then he watched the sky, until he was sure she had made it back to Lowtown.

With a sigh, he raked his hand through his while hair.

Aisling, she had a way about her—simplifying, and complicated everything all at once.

He shook his head, turned away from the day and closed the door.

 

—

**Author's Note:**

> Standard disclaimers apply. I don't own Dragon Age. I'm just playing in the sand box. 
> 
> This is a part of a larger story, (one that I have no clue as to when or if I'll ever get it posted!) but I needed to get this out of my system, and thought to post it and see what people think about Aisling, who is my cannon Hawke. 
> 
> Not the first Hawke I created and played, but one that I made to side with the Templars for shits and giggles as I was playing, a friend was watching me, and we got to talking about why she had these views that would make her side with the Templars over the Mages with her being a Mage. At first it was an Andrastian thing, but then this idea starting gleaming, where she was afraid of her magic, and that grew into hate. I just feel that she is just a rich character, with contradiction, flaws, and I really hope you guys can see where I'm coming from with her. 
> 
> Please tell me it there are any spelling errors, typos, etc. I don’t have anyone to beta/edit my work.
> 
> Please if you have the time, or want to put forth the effort, please tell what you thought.


End file.
